


Sleigh Ride

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Holidays, M/M, Male Slash, Pony Play, You Have Been Warned, one shot/two chapters, second chapter will be EXPLICIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our first real snow of the season (coupled with one last listen of my favorite instrumental version of the tune) raised this scenario in my brain (PLEASE READ AND HEED THE TAGS!!!)  For kmmerc:  Happy Birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Go To The Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Title: Sleigh Ride  
Chapter I: Let’s Go To The Show  
Rating: M (will go to Explicit in Chapter II)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: pony play, could be considered AU (if you squint), holidays, male slash, one-shot/two chapters, established relationship

NOTES: Our first real snow of the season (coupled with one last listen of my favorite instrumental version of the tune which inspired the title) raised this scenario in my brain. For kmmerc: Happy Birthday!

 

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

The stallion was magnificent, in his prime and a superb example of his breed. Well-defined muscles bunched and relaxed beneath a shining black hide. His mane, luxuriant and long, was equally black with only a few tendrils of gray threading his forelock. Although his tail had been left loose to flow down to his fetlocks, a green and red plaid ribbon tied into an elaborate bow encircled his dock. 

He stood patiently as his driver made a few minor adjustments to his harness; the well-oiled dark brown leather traces complimenting his natural color. He snorted once, the slight movement eliciting a melodious chime from the brass bells adorning the backband.

“Easy, easy…it’s almost time.”

The stallion settled, turning his head slightly to nuzzle the white-gloved hand that stroked his nose.

“Good boy. Stand.”

The Friesian squared up, head forward and neck arched proudly. His handler stepped back and took in the sight before him. To say that Finch was pleased was an understatement. He’d been planning to come to this show for quite some time but the unexpected snowfall brought with it the opportunity to make one of his secret dreams a reality at last. Six inches of powder had packed into a solid, slick surface perfect for sledding; so much so that Harold had taken the precaution of having his steed’s shoes roughed so that the stallion wouldn’t slip.

The one seater sleigh was lacquered a beautiful hunter green, sporting upholstery in burgundy velvet and hand-painted gold leaf gilding around its edges. The vehicle itself, although authentic in all its vintage details featured state of the art construction, down to its titanium runners. 

His was, he noted, the _only_ entry with a sleigh, the other drivers opting for a variety of carts, carriages even one chariot. Finch _‘tskd’_ in disapproval at the man’s folly. The toga clad idiot deserved to freeze in Harold’s opinion.

A trumpet sounded, warning each of the drivers to prepare for their runs. Finch was fourth in line and as he eased himself up onto the bench he could feel his horse’s tension shivering down the reins to his hand. Harold too was dressed to perfection, Gianni having produced a Victorian era coachman’s outfit for him, complete with matching laprobe. Pulling his scarlet domino mask into place, Finch secured the laprobe and waited until a show steward motioned to him.

“You’re up next Mr. Cardinal.” The official grinned as his eyes roamed over the beautifully turned out horse and rig. “There’s a nice crowd lining the route…you to are going to create quite a stir out there.”

Harold nodded and clicked his tongue at the stallion, drawing the tip of his driving whip gently across his steed’s back. The Friesian moved out into a steady walk, silky black feathers flying at every step. Finch held him in, wanting to warm the stallion up gradually. As they approached the first group of spectators, Harold chirruped, tapping his steed’s left flank with the whip.

“Trot.”

The stallion responded with perfect obedience, moving into the high-stepping two beat gait with fluid ease. The harness bells settled into a pleasing **_ching-ching-ching-ching_** rhythm, matching the equine’s hoofbeats with precision.

Murmurs of appreciation reached their ears. Finch smiled as the stallion shifted to an extended trot of his own accord. _Show off…._ he thought fondly. The ‘farm’ itself had rigorous security measures in place, including the fact that all phones and recording devices had to be surrendered at check in to protect the privacy of the hunt club’s members. Harold had no issue with the management’s policy, indeed he himself was one of the major financial partners and helped draft the club’s code of conduct, but today of all days the recluse wished he could have a recording of the event.

The spontaneous applause that greeted them on their second circuit filled Harold with smug pleasure. He knew they looked good and to have the other members’ approbation was a moment to be savored. Turning off the course, Finch guided the sleigh back to the starting line, returning to his place in the order before dismounting to move to the stallion’s head. 

He checked his partner over, placing a palm on the great chest, warm but not too hot; taking note of the stallion’s breathing and demeanor. _He’s just warmed up…he could do this all day and not show it at all._ Harold’s pride in and affection for his horse spilled over and he scrubbed his fingers back and forth along the stallion’s barrel.

“So perfect,” he crooned, just loud enough for the other to hear. “Did you see how they admired you? So sleek and handsome, so powerful.” Finch leaned in to plant a kiss on the stallion’s shoulder. “Such a good, good horse.”

The stallion whickered quietly, touching his nose to his driver’s cheek, warm breath caressing the bare skin beneath Harold’s mask. Finch shivered in response. He pulled away after a long moment and reaching under the sleigh’s seat, brought out a hunter green stable blanket. Finch draped the rug around the stallion, securing the chest and girth straps to keep it in place.

“There…don’t want you catching a chill.” The stallion settled, relaxing into the warmth of his blanket and working the bit between his teeth in the same way a man might chew gum while thinking.

The steward returned, intently listening to a one-sided conversation on his earpiece. The man nodded and then motioned towards the show teams. 

“Will the placing entrants please move to the winner’s circle when their names are called.”

The handlers quieted, listening intently for the judges’ decisions.

“In fourth place: Brandywine Farms’ Sunny Day, driven by Rosamunde Smith.”

A sleek dapple bay mare pulling a trim sulky stepped forward, her driver's face wreathed in smiles.

_Ms. Smith should be happy……this was Sunny’s first show, and so soon after completing her training too._

“Third place goes to Brixton Bertie, driven by Archie Feldman.”

“Good man Bertie!” Feldman crowed, doffing his hat as the miniature beer wagon passed the other entrants. The stolidly built gray that pulled it shook his head, snorting at his driver’s antics.

 _If only Archie could be as stoic as his horse,_ Finch thought, chuckling to himself as he returned the stable blanket to storage.

“Second place is awarded to Ebony-N-Ivorie with Lady Iris at the reins."

The black and white Gypsy Vanner was almost as flashy as the caravan he pulled although Harold winced at the sight of a sixty-something ‘Lady Iris’ in her Hollywood gypsy outfit, complete with a curly black, waist length wig and enormous gold hoop earrings.

 _The only thing keeping her peasant blouse from falling down is that leather corset of hers._ Finch merely nodded his head in congratulation as she passed, once again taking his perch on the sleigh’s seat.

“And finally ladies and gentlemen, first place and the sterling cup go to Aquila’s Covert Op, owned and driven by H. Cardinal of Aquila Aerie Farms." 

Harold allowed himself a small pleased smile even as his heart swelled with pride at the tremendous whoop that greeted them as they entered the ring. He halted in front of the judges’ stand and received handshakes from all three before accepting the silver trophy. The Friesian stood stock still as the blue rosette was pinned to his bridle.

The ring steward held his hand up and the spectators quieted.

“The special awards for _People’s Choice_ and _Most Original Concept_ for the first time in club history go to the same entrant…..Aquila’s Covert Op and H. Cardinal.”

Thunderous applause broke over the ring as Finch modestly received the accolades of showers and judges alike before waving to the crowd and guiding his steed out of the ring and back to the stable complex.

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

NOTES: Yep.....I went there....I sure enough did...and the next chapter will contain just what your depraved minds think it will. Chapter 2 will be posted by tomorrow afternoon (kmmerc, consider this the gift that keeps on giving, lol!) and remember: READ and HEED the TAGS!!!! Thanks for joining me on this wild ride!


	2. Rode Hard...Put Up Wet!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is full of kinky, lovely, consensual, EXPLICIT sex between two men...one of which acts like a horse. You have been warned.

Title: Sleigh Ride  
Chapter II: Rode Hard, Put Up Wet  
Rating: EXPLICIT  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: pony play, holidays, male slash, explicit sexual situations in a BDSM type scenario, one-shot/two chapters, established relationship

 **WARNING:** Herein be sex; kinky, lovely, consensual sex between two men, one of which is acting like a horse. If you didn’t read the above tags then hopefully you will this. If you choose not to read this either then don’t come crying to me when your triggers are tripped.

 **ACTUAL STORY NOTES:** Since this chapter deals with a pony play sexual scene, the following safewords/codes may/will be used and so I define them here rather than breaking up the action of the story.

‘Liberty’- stay in scene, free to use arms/hands (used exclusively by Finch)  
‘Snaffle’- green, stay in scene (Finch/Reese)  
‘Curb’- yellow, slow down/pause (Finch/Reese)  
‘Hobble’- end scene (Finch/Reese)

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

As they approached the member’s barn, a stocky curly-haired man stepped out to greet them. Lionel’s grin was a mile wide as he began to unbuckle the stallion’s traces. “Heard it through the PA system…you wiped the floor with them didn’t ya?”

“We did very well indeed Mr. Fusco. Fortune just happened to be on our side today.”

“Bullshit Professor. The others had no hope in hell of beating you and Wondercolt here.”

The stallion snorted, stomping a hoof in irritation.

“Sorry buddy….just kidding.”

Harold pulled the last of the harness from the Friesian’s back and taking hold of his headstall led the stallion into the barn. “Once the sleigh’s been secured take the rest of the day off. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon to get loaded up.”

Lionel grinned again, waggling his eyebrows. “You’re the boss. Go on and _whisper_ to your horse.” 

Finch groaned at the joke and made his way back to their private stalls. Thankfully they reached them without encountering any of the other handlers.

Opening the Dutch doors, Harold gave the stallion his head and secured the wooden barrier behind them, blocking out all sight and sound of the barn’s other inhabitants. He turned a knob on the front wall, locking it in place. A large red **X** was now displayed next to the stall’s number plate. Short of the barn catching on fire, they would not be disturbed until they chose to leave.

The ‘stall’ itself was palatial, with an attached ‘wash’ area. Finch opened a wooden cupboard and stowed his coat, hat and boots inside, then securing it against any curious equine investigations. The heated floor was covered by soft, thick stable mats except for one corner that had a raised wooden rail and was piled high with a bed of sweet smelling timothy hay. Harold smiled at his extravagance. Let other handlers give their mounts scratchy straw or itchy wood-shavings that found their way into inconvenient crevices. His stallion deserved and got the best in everything.

Said stallion was now stretching himself, indulging in a full-body shake before moving to Finch’s side. He gently nuzzled the older man’s shoulder in a silent bid for attention. Harold laughed and scratched the Friesian’s back, his amusement growing as the stallion angled his body to make sure his handler could reach his ‘itchy’ spots. Quiet, happy whickers came from the black horse’s throat as he enjoyed his master’s caresses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and comfortable, shall we boy?”

Harold patted the horse’s rear, giving him the command to stand. Once more the stallion squared up and waited with infinite patience.

Finch unbuckled the bridle, carefully easing the bit out of the stallion’s muzzle before hanging it up. The draft collar and chest plate followed and finally the foreleg restraints. The Friesian let his limbs hang loose, fingers flexing in their black gloves as he sighed in pleasure.

“That feels better doesn’t it?” Harold’s voice was soothing as he ran a hand over the stallion’s poll, tapping his withers. “Head.”

The powerful neck arched, bending so that Finch could easily move the thick mane aside and undo the laces at the back of the mask. He eased the leather hood over the top of the stallion’s head, revealing the sweat-slicked salt and pepper hair concealed beneath. 

Harold paused, taking in the sight of his partner’s eyes closed in contentment, his face relaxed and open; for the moment at peace with the world. John was always handsome of course, but it was during their rare ‘play times’ that Finch thought him at his most beautiful. He was so deeply into his pony headspace, his trust completely put in his handler that Harold never failed to be overcome in awe at the gift of John Reese’s submission.

Finch hung the hood up and returned to unzip the black lycra shirt, removing it and the matching gloves. John’s tanned torso gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. The hip harness came next, taking the thick artificial tail with it. Harold tapped his stallion’s right calf and John immediately lifted his foot, allowing his handler to unzip and remove the black boot with its mass of feathered hair.

Finch did the same for the left boot, then massaged John’s lower back before slipping the lycra pants down muscular legs. He stowed the remainder of the horse gear and met the younger man’s gaze.

“Snaffle?” Harold’s voice was soft.

John’s head bobbed and he snorted, standing tall and puffing his chest out clearly preening for his master. Finch laughed again, very happy that the stallion still wanted to play. He reached out and rubbed his fingers along Reese’s jaw and up behind his ear. 

“Come on then you great dandy, let’s wash you down.” 

John whickered, nudging Finch playfully as he followed him to the en suite. 

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

Half an hour later, all traces of sweat washed away, John stood in the center of his stall, eyes closed and half dozing as Harold ran a soft rubber mane comb through his hair. He had been fitted with a leather hip belt with padded straps that encircled his thighs and secured the base of the artificial tail resting just above his backside. This tail was braided and clubbed so that it could easily be moved to one side if the need arose. A padded black leather collar encircled John’s throat, its brass D ring gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the opaque window panes.

Harold was pleased that John kept his arms folded behind his back, a leather strap clutched in his hands the only ‘aid’ he required. Although many of the other ponies and their handlers preferred more severe restraints, Finch thought John’s actions more truly personified the way a stallion might act. John followed Harold’s directions because he _chose_ to, not because he was coerced into obedience. 

While to an onlooker this appeared to give Finch less control over the stallion if he decided to misbehave, Harold knew that their approach to ‘horsemanship’ relied on mutual trust and affection rather than punishment. Besides, the ways in which John usually chose to assert his ‘equine attitude’ were ones that Finch greatly enjoyed. _As the old saying goes: ‘You Tell a gelding, Ask a mare and Negotiate with a stallion’_ , Harold mused as he returned the mane comb to the grooming box. He pulled a few dried apple slices from a plastic baggie and offered them to John. 

His pony lowered his head, sniffing at the treats before lipping them up one by one from Finch’s hand. He swiped his tongue across Harold’s palm, then gripped the skin at the base of his handler’s thumb between his teeth with just enough pressure to be felt.

“Release…” Harold tapped the stallion’s jaw with his free hand and John held on a moment longer before letting go. Finch’s eyes narrowed.

“Someone’s feeling his oats today. I think a workout on the lunge line might be in order to burn off that excess energy.” Harold turned, reaching for the leather hood when a nudge between his shoulders caused him to stagger forward. He looked back to see the stallion advancing on him, a challenging glint in his eye.

“Fortis, back!” Finch’s voice was sharp as he used his steed’s call name to reinforce his command. 

The Friesian kept coming, matching each step Harold took backwards with a forward movement of his own. Finch felt the wooden surface of the wall stop his escape and he felt a frisson of excitement prickling his spine. He swallowed, trying once more to take control of the situation.

“Fortis, _enough!_ ”

The stallion’s eyes never left Finch’s own and he found himself instinctively responding to the raw, masculine power of the horse. Fortis stopped only when his chest was flush with his handler’s, trapping the small human between himself and the wall.

Finch could feel the warmth of the stallion’s skin through his thin dress shirt and the powerful _thump-thump_ of his heartbeat. Fortis buried his nose in Harold’s hair, blowing out in deep, needy whickers. Harold’s cheeks flushed, it was clear the stallion wished to breed and had decided that Finch was to be his mare. The recluse’s knees went weak and he felt the itchy tingle of arousal in his groin. 

Fortis pushed his muzzle lower and licked Harold’s neck with forceful strokes of his strong tongue. The stallion nibbled at the man’s ear, exhaling into it. One word, whispered so quietly that Finch almost missed it.

 _“Curb?”_ He asked before gripping Finch’s jaw in his teeth.

“S-snaffle… _please!_ ” Harold moaned as Fortis nickered, licking at his mouth. Helpless to resist, Finch’s lips parted and the stallion pushed his tongue inside. Harold tasted apple and clear water as he allowed the great horse to have its way. When at last Fortis drew back, it was all Finch could do to remain upright, gasping for breath.

Fortis lowered his head, seizing the front of Finch’s shirt in his teeth and jerked his head to one side. The sound of linen ripping startled Harold into looking down. He saw the stallion spit the torn fabric onto the floor before catching another mouthful of the delicate material. Piece by piece the man’s shirt was stripped from him until only a few tattered remnants of the sleeves dangled about his wrists.

Fortis nibbled at the thick hair covering Finch’s chest, rooting around with agile lips until he found the treasure he sought.

“Ooooh……” Harold moaned as the stallion licked and teased the sensitive bud with his mouth. Fortis’ whickers became grunts as he felt the man’s nipple harden. He captured it between his teeth and worried it with the tip of his tongue.

“Nghhh…. _aaahhh!_ ” Harold's cock hardened, pressing into the solid equine body. Being dominated by the stallion, literally powerless in the face of his strength kicked the recluse’s desire into high gear. He sagged against the wall, grateful for the support as Fortis began to suckle him.

“So…so close…”

Abruptly the stallion backed off, bending down to seize the waistband of Finch’s trousers in his teeth and pull forward. Harold staggered along on shaky legs as Fortis led him to the back of the stall. The stallion nipped the man’s hip to get him to turn, causing Finch to voice a high pitched squeak.

Harold was now facing a canvas draped object. Fortis nipped him again, more sharply this time and the recluse hastened to remove the covering. Underneath was a finely carved framework of polished, dark stained wood. It featured four sturdy legs supporting a leather upholstered seat at about hip high on a tall human. The seat was angled up and long enough to easily support a reclining figure. Two shining brass stirrups protruded from the bottom of the cushioned seat and two smooth wooden arms protruded towards the ceiling at its top. Well-worn leather straps dangled from the arms.

Harold was sweating now. One hand drifted towards his crotch to try and adjust his erection to ease the tightness of fabric against sensitive flesh. The stallion’s explosive snort stopped him in mid-motion. Lips drew back from white teeth and a deep, challenging whinny pierced the air.

Finch twisted and turned as he was herded towards the leather covered seat with nips and nudges from Fortis. When his buttocks hit the bench’s edge he looked into the stallion's eyes.

 _“Liberty…”_ he said, his voice rough with longing.

Immediately John released the strap in his hands and gathered Finch in his arms, lifting the smaller man up onto his perch. He steadied Harold as he slipped his hands through the arm straps and gripped the wooden beams. John bent over his lover, touching his forehead to Harold’s and stroking the older man’s face with his reverent fingers. When Finch nodded that he was ready, Fortis re-surfaced and the stallion paraded before his chosen mate, tossing his head and stamping a forehoof as he arched his neck proudly. His whickers deepened in pitch as he approached the breeding stand again. 

The stallion grasped the waistband of the man’s trousers in his teeth and tore the Velcro fly open. Finch lifted his backside just enough to allow Fortis to yank his pants over his legs and toss them to the side. Harold’s boxers followed and the stallion bent his nose to the man’s crotch to drink in the scent of his mate’s arousal.

Harold was reduced to hiccupping sobs when the stallion swallowed down his cock, licking the pre-come from its weeping slit. He’d been stripped of his supremacy by this beast…literally laid bare and now helplessly in thrall to the powerful animal possessing him. No master he, was Harold Finch. He was just a mare, subservient to his stud’s wishes. Humiliation pricked his belly and he squirmed in delicious need. 

Finch was barely aware of hands positioning his feet in the stirrups and spreading his legs open. One hand teased his nipples as slick fingers brushed his opening. Harold bucked upwards, squealing as the sensitive nubs were pinched in warning.

At last one then two fingers slid inside him, stretching, reaching deeper until-

“God…please…please…. _Fortis! Mount me!_ ”

The fingers slid out and Finch felt his sphincter spasming…. _winking like a mare ready to be bred_ his fevered brain supplied.

Finch opened his eyes to see the stallion towering above him, its ‘sheath’ pulled back revealing the glistening head of its fully erect penis. Fortis pushed forward, draping his forelegs over the breeding bench. Harold gasped as the stallion’s cock slid deep inside him.

Fortis froze for a moment, then began pistoning his hips, nailing Harold’s prostate on nearly every stroke. The stallion leaned over and seized the man’s neck in his teeth, biting down to help steady himself as he chased his orgasm.

Finch cried out, spurting his release messily over his belly. Fortis grunted and Harold felt the stallion’s seed pulsing deep inside him, forcing another sluggish gout of semen from his own deflating cock. Fortis pumped a few more times then released the man’s shoulder, licking at the dark marks he’d left in the soft, pale skin. Harold closed his eyes, drifting as he felt the stallion pull out.

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

Finch roused at the feeling of a warm, wet cloth moving over his groin. His legs dangled, his feet having been removed from the stirrups at some point. He looked up to see his horse wrapped in a black bathrobe gently cleaning him up.

“John?” he asked hesitantly.

Reese smiled down at him, not a trace of Fortis in his eyes. “I’d say _hobble_ but I think we passed that point some time ago.”

“I’m sorry…I should be caring for you, not-“

John silenced him with a finger over his lips. “Shhhh…”

He helped the older man sit up and eased him down off the breeding stand, wrapping his arms around Finch until he was sure the recluse was steady on his feet.

“You always take care of me after we scene…it’s my turn this time. A stallion is responsible for his herd after all.”

Harold gave a rueful laugh. “Some herd…one spavined, old nag.” He chuckled again, thinking of Fusco. “Well one old nag and one stubborn mule.”

John bent down and kissed Harold’s ear. “Yeah but I don’t breed the mule....and you're no _spavined old nag_.”

“Mr. Reese…” Finch blushed up to his hairline, turning his face away.

“Come on stud, let’s get cleaned up.”

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

Freshly showered, the pair slipped into the queen-sized human bed opposite the haybox. John settled Finch into a nest of pillows and spooned up behind him, dragging the quilted comforter over them both.

Harold yawned, taking John’s hand in his own and clutching it to his chest.

“Was it good for you? The show and….afterwards?”

Finch felt his partner’s smile against the back of his head. 

“It was perfect. I was in the best hands possible, just like always.”

“Mmmmm….” Harold replied as he drifted into sleep. “Always…..”

John closed his eyes and followed the recluse into slumber.  
Both dreamt of warm snorts and quiet whickers.

**giddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyupgiddyup**

 

NOTES: Well, there it is. I hope everyone enjoyed this gallop through the insane steeplechase course of my imagination. More importantly, I think this has heralded the return of my POI fanfic muse. I’m still gonna kick his ass for being gone so long but I’m happy to have him back on the job. (I’m not even going to ask where he picked up the ‘BORN TO WRITE RINCH’ tattoo, some mysteries are better left unsolved…..)

Inspiration for John’s pony gear was taken from the photos found here: http://www.fury-fantasy.com/Fury-Fantasy-lobby.htm (Yes they can be ordered!)

Inspiration for Finch’s custom ‘breeding bench’ was taken from the photo of Edward VII’s ‘second throne’ used during his visits to a Parisian whorehouse: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1259670/A-love-seat-fit-king-The-antique-chair-gives-eye-popping-insight-Edward-VIIs-debauched-youth.html


End file.
